


A Secret From The Nation

by fraufi666



Category: Political RPF - US 20th c.
Genre: American Presidents, Authority Figures, Homophobia, M/M, Male Slash, Mild Language, Political Campaigns, Republican, Romance, Suspense, Vietnam War, World War II references, anti-Semitism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1983480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>President Nixon develops some unusual feelings for his closest associate, Henry Kissinger. As tensions rise at work and home, self doubt and paranoia fills Nixon's mind. He is confronted with a fateful decision: to be hated by all the American people, or to lose the one who truly understands him the most? Is this perhaps the doing of someone who plans to take down his presidency and soil his reputation, or is it something more than that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Secret From The Nation

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is a historical AU. Although I have used historical figures and some references based from real events, (e.g Vietnam War, Nixon's presidency) this is entirely a work of fiction. All romantic encounters, events and insinuations are from my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any of the people depicted. I am also in no way politically biased.

It was a warm, pleasant day at Washington D.C. But within the White House, things couldn't get more unpleasant. Richard Nixon sat at his desk in the oval office doing dreary paperwork, no doubt related to foreign affairs. 

"Mr President…Kissinger says that you're completely out of line."

Nixon's dark gaze quickly flickered to one of his advisors, Haldeman. He hadn't even heard him come in, and the thought had unnerved him. What if, by any chance that it was a Democratic spy who had walked in unannounced, watching his every move? 

He inwardly chided himself to take closer precautions. Nixon refused to let his guard down for even one minute. There was no telling what would happen if he did.

Yet he was slightly glad that it was Haldeman of all people who had walked in. Congress was increasingly becoming less safe to be around. Day in and day out, he noticed his own advisors slowly becoming less faithful. 

"I don't care what that Jew-boy says." Nixon said gruffly, his tone clearly indicating the opposite. "You go and tap his office. Make sure that he's not leaking out anything we've been saying to the public. And, close that damn door! We don't want Hoover or any of his boys coming in."

"Of course sir." Haldeman responded quickly, walking over to close the door. He glanced over, and for the first time he had noticed how tense the president was. It was not uncommon to see Nixon behaving in such a paranoid fashion, he was used to it. But it was a different kind of tenseness. 

"Mr President, is there something wrong?"

Nixon looked up, his brow creasing "What? No! Nothing is wrong. Why? What have they been saying about me? What has the media been spewing to the public?" 

Haldeman quickly tried to state that he was merely concerned, but Nixon did not seem to let him get another word out. "Well, I don't give a damn about it. They all hate me. The public, those bums flunking college…everyone! Well, Nixon is strong. He doesn't need anyone pushing him down! And if he chooses to bomb Vietnam, so be it!" Suddenly, he had turned around to face the Abraham Lincoln bust that was behind him. It struck him that even though he had been following Lincoln's footsteps he was still very much despised by everyone. Why? Did he choose to be uncharismatic? Did he want to be some unattractive man with an embarrassing perspiration problem? It wasn't fair that the Kennedys had everything. They were always going to be better respected, wealthier and better looking. Despite John F. Kennedy's assassination, the deceased man was still getting more respect that the survivor Nixon himself. Even though he had felt that he was doing right for the American people, he was still going to be feared, never loved. "Haldeman. I think you should go." He murmured, after a moment's silence. 

Haldeman gave a brief nod and left the room without another word. 

Nixon turned back to his papers, but by then he was too overwhelmed to focus properly. Just as timing had it, another person knocked the door. 

"Yeah, come in I don't have all day." Nixon grumbled.

As the door swung open, the president's jaw dropped. It was Kissinger. Nixon felt his blood boil. He couldn't believe the nerve of that man who had walked in to speak to him even as he was backstabbing him at the same time. But Nixon took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. The last thing he needed was to have another outburst to further fuel Kissinger's theory that he was psychotic. 

"Mr President…" Kissinger said slowly in his Frankish accent. "I just wanted to discuss with you about the matters in Vietnam."

"We've been through this, Henry." Nixon replied impatiently "We've already taken out half of the American troops. Now all we need to do is to get a message across to the Vietcong so that we can have those peace talks. And by doing that we bomb Hanoi." 

Kissinger nodded slowly "Yes. That is a very good idea, Mr President. Irrationality can be our greatest asset." But he stopped as he sensed how edgy the other man was. He peered at him cautiously through his thick-rimmed glasses. "What is on your mind, Richard?"

Nixon suddenly jolted, horrified at what the other man was saying. On his mind? Was this some decoy in order to get him to open up so that he can blabber to the rest of Congress? He wouldn't have it. 

"NO!" Nixon shouted, slamming his fists on the desk and startling Kissinger in turn "Nothing is on my mind. And even if there was something else, I wouldn't tell you because you'll just tell everyone else about it!" He turned red and quickly sat back down, frustrated that he had finally given in to his fear and told Kissinger what was really going on. He could visualise tomorrow's headline now; President loses the plot, discovered by National Security Advisor. 

But Kissinger was not running away to speak to the other members. He stayed put, his eyes wide in concern. 

"Why are you still standing here, Jew boy?! Aren't you going to run off and tell everyone else about how crazy I am?" He was shaking now, and felt himself perspiring. Clumsily, he fumbled in his pockets for a tissue, but there wasn't one there. 

Suddenly, the National Security Advisor was standing over him, holding a tissue in his hand. At first, Nixon thought that he was going to give it to him, but instead, he had wiped the sweat from his forehead. Nixon sat still, transfixed and surprised. He couldn't believe what was happening to him. His heart was beating faster than a rabbit's. This was the man who had worked so closely with him, yet he couldn't trust him completely either. At first, he assumed that it was fear, but after Kissinger had moved his hand away, he felt slightly disappointed. 

"W-what are you doing?" Nixon stammered, slowly regaining his composure. 

"You don't look very well." Kissinger replied shortly, as if this was to justify his action. "I think you should go home early and get some rest. It's not wise to push yourself if you're unwell in work."

Before he was about to argue back, Kissinger had headed to the door, leaving him in the office once more. 

God, Henry's stubborn. Nixon thought with a chuckle. But he did have a point. He had felt rather odd, as if his stomach was fluttering. Perhaps it was something he had eaten. Never again would he go to a cocktail party hosted for charity. Even though they had done some fine work for the unfortunate, it was as if the food they had offered for high profiled officials was much worse than what the impoverished were used to eating. Maybe it was intentional. He wouldn't be surprised. It seemed as if everyone was attacking the president. 

That night, as he slept, several visions entered into his mind. He was making a campaign speech, and even as the crowd had cheered, there was a solitary figure in the background that remained silent. But for some reason, this had seemed so disconcerting. Usually, he would have been so ecstatic to see so many supporters. He was sure that this crowd wasn't just filled with Republicans. Maybe he had truly won the hearts of the Democrats as well…the entire American nation, but one. 

Nixon quickly left the stand and walked towards the figure, but they were walking too fast for him to catch up. "Stop!" He called, "Stop right there!" 

Yet it was if the figure had not heard him. They continued running until he could no longer see them. 

"Get back here!" 

But after the figure had disappeared, he could feel himself sinking closer to the ground. The crowd, the stand and all the Nixon banners had disappeared. But it later occurred to him that he was not sinking to the ground, he was sinking into a vast, deep blue pool. He sputtered, trying to swim to the surface, but he continued to sink. The water was way over his head by now, and he waved his arms frantically, fearful that he was going to fall into his watery grave. 

He woke up with a start. Pat Nixon was sitting at his bedside, her face pale in worry. "Dick, what's wrong? Were you having a nightmare?" She put a hand on his shoulder, but he quickly pulled away, still trying to recover from the strange dream. 

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?!" He shouted angrily. 

Pat sighed. She was used to her husband's temper tantrums. "Is it a crime for a wife to be worried about her husband?" 

Nixon looked down, ashamed for having lost his temper over something so trivial. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry Buddy. I know that you're only trying to help." 

"Then what's wrong?"

He thought of those eyes in the oval office the day before, and how they peered at him with so much concern behind those thick-framed glasses. And then there was the gesture and the strange feeling in his stomach after he had left. 

The president patted the woman's hand "I'll be fine." He lied "I think it's just those damn sandwiches I ate at that cocktail party. Those cocksucker Democrats. Always trying to poison me." 

She raised an eyebrow in clear disbelief. "Is that really what you think, Dick? That the whole world is against you? Because, they will be if you keep closing yourself up like that!" 

Nixon stood up suddenly, furious that she was chiding him as if he were a child. He did not need another lecture; he just needed her to bear with him. "Buddy, stop it." He said curtly "And let me sleep." 

But the next few days were not easy. Every time he had set eyes on Kissinger he would feel the same uncomfortable fluttering feeling in his stomach. To add to his problems, he would dream of a pair of blue eyes that stared into him deeply from thick, dark frames. Now that it was clear as day that it was not just the sandwiches that were making him ill. It was his National Security Advisor. It angered him that another man could exert this much power over him. 

"Mr President.."

Nixon looked up, and upon seeing Kissinger, tried to dismiss him with the wave of his hand. "There's nothing more to say, Henry. Please go."

But to Nixon's disappointment, Kissinger was just as stubborn as he was. "Why?" He asked, walking closer "What's happened?" 

Nixon's dark eyes peered into the lighter eyes of the other man "Nothing's happened…" He said breathlessly, his head spinning "God damn it! Why am I getting so ill all of a sudden?”

Kissinger gave a small smile, as if he had knew the answer. But he remained silent. 

"There's nothing funny about it!" Nixon snapped, flushing slightly. He could sense Kissinger looking at him intently. In a fit of rage, he stood up quickly, about to lunge forward to strike Kissinger, but he fell forward, feeling faint. In a few seconds, he had fallen into the grasp of soft, warm hands. Kissinger held him gently, almost like that of a lover. Nixon felt his palms sweat profusely as he helplessly clung to the other man as if he was a piece of driftwood that was to prevent him from drowning. He couldn't comprehend it. This was so wrong. He was a true Republican, a Quaker at heart and he had only felt giddy like this around beautiful women. 

Kissinger continued to hold onto him gently, allowing Nixon to rest on him. They stood in this way for a while, until Nixon quickly stood up suddenly, aware of what he was being tricked into.

"Ah ha!" He said aloud in triumph "You've been trying to make me one of those fags! I knew it. You're secretly working for the Communists, isn't that right? Answer me!"

Kissinger smiled, wider this time. "No, Mr President." He said simply. "This doing isn't mine. It is all in your head. Do you have feelings for me, Richard?"

Nixon felt himself turn several shades redder. "NO!" He yelled, shaking slightly. "I…I am a Quaker. I'm not a fag. You hear me? I'm not a fag!"

Kissinger took a few steps closer to the president so that their shoulders were touching. "Then, why are you so flustered?" A hand rested on his own and the concerned eyes stared into him once again, the same eyes that were haunting him for so many nights. 

"Nobody will ever love you…" Kissinger continued, seeing that Nixon was silent. It was so rare to see him so quiet and he relished the opportunity. "All those people will be fearful of you and they will never love you." He gave his hand a squeeze in comfort "But I'll never be afraid of you, Richard. I already know the sort of person that you are." 

Nixon's heart raced as he stared helplessly into those eyes. He wanted to walk away, but his feet stayed put. 

"I understand you, Richard. I'm on your side. I wish that you would see that for yourself. Even as the whole world turns against you, I'll be here." 

"Henry…"

A warm hand was on his cheek and he closed his eyes, feeling so secure from the contact. He knew that this was all too good to last, and was fearful that the same feeling of disappointment would return when he had moved his hand away last time. He had felt drawn to him, like a moth to the light and knew that letting him go and staying with him was killing him either way. As Kissinger attempted to let him go, Nixon managed to grip the National Security Advisor's hand. 

"Henry.." Nixon choked, suddenly feeling so small "Don't leave me, you idiot."

Kissinger chuckled slightly, enjoying the way he made such a strong impact on the president "Why?" He asked. 

"You know why." Nixon answered crossly. "I'm very confused, I don't know what you've done to me…" 

The other man put a finger to his lips to silence him "Then don't say anymore." Kissinger replied. And with that, he tilted his jaw gently towards him and planted a quick kiss on his lips. 

But this wasn't just the gentle kiss that a woman would give him, it was a fierce, powerful kiss. A true Republican kiss. Strangely, he found this more alluring. 

Before he could stop himself, Nixon clumsily reciprocated the kiss, moaning as the kiss became less chaste and more sensual. He had wanted more, and lost in the ecstasy of it all, he forgot all about his stern Quaker upbringing and the way he had insulted homosexuals with his staff. This was what he had wanted. 

"No!" Nixon gasped, pulling away. It was as if he had woken up from a long sleep and he trembled, horrified that he had done what was considered to be the unthinkable. He had committed a sin, possibly the worst that he could think of. "No! I..I'm not a fag!" He cried. "Get out of my office now!" 

Kissinger stood silently, peering back at him mournfully. But nevertheless, he obeyed and walked out of the office straight away. 

The President fell back into his chair, holding his head in his hands in dismay. "What have I done?!" He cried out to himself loudly "Oh God, why?!" Sobbing, he got on his knees to pray for forgiveness. 

 

He had avoided Kissinger for most of the week, making up ridiculous excuses such as needing to walk the dog, when all other members of staff wanted to have a meeting. Whenever he had wanted to do work in the office, he would go in late at night when not even Haldeman was around to question him. 

Late one night, as Nixon fell asleep in the office, he had a different dream to the one that was haunting him during these past few days. 

Rather than giving a speech as he usually did, he was standing in a park. Everyone was cheering and looking towards him, smiling except for a lone figure. Recognising it from previous nights, he pushed past the crowd, calling out to the figure. As he got closer to him though, he only realised that he had known who the figure was the entire time…

Kissinger turned around, addressing him sternly behind those thick glasses. Nixon wanted to take those ridiculous glasses off and finally stare into that blue abyss, but he was too stunned to move. 

"Richard…" Kissinger purred in his heavy accent. Two soft, warm hands gripped him by the shoulders, the hands that had held him whilst he was dizzy in the oval office. He moved closer to him, suddenly teary but grateful to be in his arms once more. 

"I don't really want you to go, Henry. Stay with me…" 

Kissinger silently kissed him deeply, running his hands through his dark hair. Nixon tried to kiss him back, but the man stopped him.

"Look over there…" Kissinger said, pointing over to where the crowd was. "Your people need you. They love you now. You don't need me."

But Nixon was furious. Even though he had seen how cheerful the crowd was and how he was finally getting the recognition that he deserved, he refused to choose between them. "No. I do need you. You're my National Security Advisor. I can't lose you for a bunch of Democrats. Please, don't leave me." 

Kissinger sighed "Is that all I really mean to you? I'm just your member of staff that you can abuse around? Well, you've got what you wanted. Now I'll leave you be and I won't confuse you again."

Nixon was speechless. "Don't be stupid!" He said indignantly "I do see you more than that. You're wonderful Henry. You're smart; you agree with my policies…you understand everything about me. I rather let the whole nation hate me than let you out of my life." He put his hands on each of Kissinger's arms "I…I didn't mean to call you a Jew-boy…or a fag. I just don't want people to think lewd things about me…about us. I'm doing this for our own good."

Kissinger rolled his eyes "You're only doing this for your own good. For your credibility. And quite frankly, I don't blame you. Being a president is a remarkable profession. I wouldn't want to jeopardise that." 

"Please…don't go." Nixon begged. But the other man had pulled out of his grasp and was walking away, into the furthest reaches of the park.

He struggled to chase after him, but he slipped and fell. The ground ripped open for him, and he tumbled, screaming in the never-ending darkness. But it was all over in a matter of seconds. 

Nixon's eyes fluttered open and it took a while to realise that he was still at the office. He grabbed a tissue, wiped his sweaty brow and quickly made his way out and home. In the back of his mind, he had hoped that he did not sleep talk in fear that his dream conversation was to be tapped. 

The next day, Nixon went back to the office to work again. He had ignored the other advisors as they asked him what was going on with the Vietnam business. Even as Haldeman tried to speak to him, Nixon's mind was far away from the issues at hand. 

"Mr President?"

Nixon looked up quickly from a daze. "Yes? Oh yes, I understand. Yeah, you go do what you need to do." 

Haldeman looked puzzled "But sir, did you hear what I said about Kissinger?"

Nixon ignored the question, immediately assuming that Haldeman was reporting on Kissinger's actions "I know the Jew-boy has problems. I'll go speak to him myself." 

"But sir, I wasn't talking about-"

"You can go now, Haldeman."

Haldeman walked out of the office, throwing his hands in the air hopelessly. He saw another member of Congress walking through the corridor and briefly exchanged words since Nixon was well out of earshot. "What are we to do with him? He's absolutely crazy!"

The other man shrugged, equally powerless. "Our hands are tied. If he wants to go ahead with the bombing, we can't stop him."

"No, it's not just that. It's Kissinger. He's obsessed with him. All I ever hear from him now what Kissinger has done this time or whether he has leaked out any confidential information, etcetera etcetera."

"We know he's paranoid. But as I said, we just need to follow what he says. He does have a good point."

"I guess so."

Meanwhile Nixon was debating with himself whether to go see Kissinger or if he should stay put and ask him in. Was it even worth the risk to see him at all? But he remembered the disturbing dream he had for so many nights and last night. It only occurred to him now just how serious the risk was to losing him. If Kissinger really did not want to have anything else to do with him, he could risk losing a very crucial member of his staff. 

As for his feelings, he knew that he would get them sorted if he went to tackle the problem head-on than by hiding from Kissinger forever. But did he really want to risk falling for whatever Kissinger had done to him last time? He was still shaken by how sudden it all was. It felt so wrong, yet one part of him enjoyed it. 

To hell with it. He thought, picking up the phone. "Barbara. Could you get Henry Kissinger in my office? It's important."

"Certainly, Mr President. It won't take long." 

In a few minutes, Kissinger arrived. His face, as usual was blank as if nothing had happened. Yet as soon as he met his gaze, Nixon began to feel slightly flustered. 

"Look here, Henry." Nixon said, trying to get past his nervousness and getting straight to the point. "I want to get a few things straight."

Kissinger continued to look at him blankly "Whatever do you mean?"

"God dammit you idiot! You know exactly what I mean! I can't focus, I can't sleep well…I can't think about anything else."

The National Security Advisor smirked slightly, knowing that Nixon was hinting at his growing infatuation "I can't change how you feel, Richard…but you've made it very clear as to how you will act towards me." He stood closely to Nixon and for a moment, it seemed as if he was giving him LBJ's treatment. Yet this had seemed even more unnerving. "If you're indeed not a homosexual, then we have nothing else to discuss on the matter…right?" Even as Nixon tried to hide his perspiring hands, the bead of sweat from his forehead gave away his real feelings. 

"Yes! That's right. I'm no fag." Nixon said firmly, furiously trying to wipe away the sweat off his hands onto his pants. "Now!" He shouted, avoiding Kissinger's inquiring blue gaze "I'd like to discuss about what we could do with this current issue of-" 

But he stopped suddenly. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he felt a hand touch one of his shoulders. Kissinger stood closer to him. He was silent, yet his actions seemed as if they were screaming out words to him…to pull him towards him, and to run his lips against those soft hands. He tensed, giddy and frightened to take the next move. 

Yet it was all over in an eye blink. Kissinger had moved his hand away and stepped back. "I should be going now." He said quietly. "Goodbye, Mr President." 

But as Nixon saw his back turn, the memory of that dream returned. 

"What are you doing?!"

Kissinger spun around, confused. "What's wrong? I'm just going outside." 

"Let me go with you." Nixon said tensely, grabbing his coat. If he was really going to lose his closest advisor, like what happened in the dream he had to stop him. 

Kissinger chuckled "I'm really not going far, Mr President. I'll come back." It mesmerised him how the man could avoid him at all costs and then suddenly become too scared to be left alone. He knew that even though he was the closest to Nixon out of all the staff, he still found him to be such a complex individual. He felt like he knew him, but at the same time he just couldn't understand him. All he did was put a hand on his shoulder and yet the president would lose his train of thought and become totally speechless. Yet he knew that the time when Nixon would completely surrender to him would come, no matter how much he had tried to deny it. 

Nixon glared at him angrily. It was as if Kissinger had no idea what he was doing to him. He had the urge to pull him back, yet as he attempted to move a finger, he had frozen helplessly on the spot. 

"Why should it matter anyway, Mr President?" Kissinger asked, "You said that you had no feelings for me." Seeing the sweat on Nixon's forehead, he produced a tissue from his pocket and placed it on his desk in front of him before turning around and heading out of the door. 

Nixon looked down at the tissue, furious and shaking. Even though he should have been glad that Kissinger had decided not to wipe the sweat from his forehead for him, he had felt cheated. He had experienced this feeling before, once when Kennedy had won against him during the 1960 Campaign yet this was even worse. Nixon knew that it was easy to get back into politics, but it was even harder to win back the feelings of someone that he had cared deeply about. He put the tissue to his forehead, struggling to piece together all of these odd feelings that he was experiencing. He couldn't stand it when Kissinger was in the same room with him however it felt just as wrong when he had left him alone. Even when he had invited Kissinger in his office, all his thoughts were still unclear and there were so many questions that had remained unanswered. The whole ordeal was pointless.

Another day was well and truly wasted. 

That evening, to his dismay he realised that he had an invitation to another cocktail party. When he was about to send a letter to decline, Pat had discouraged him.

"Come on Dick. You have to go. You're the president." 

"I'm just too tired to deal with all these people and their parties." He sighed. He already had too much on his mind and a cocktail party was the last thing that he needed to add to his troubles. 

"Well you always go on about how you want the people to love you more. This is your chance to do that, Dick. Win their hearts."

"I suppose so." He grumbled. Yet some hope stirred in his heart. Perhaps by enduring this party he could have more of a chance to be voted in for second term. Maybe this would take his mind off the issue with Kissinger. From seeing how fancy the invitation was, he doubted very much that Kissinger was going to be invited. It was only in less than a month, hosted in the Ambassador Hotel in California. He knew that many of the world's most important leaders were going to be there, along with even Eisenhower and some of the Kennedys. It was not the sort of thing that he wanted to endure, but he didn't really have a choice. It was all to do with his credibility. 

Maybe then I can show those Kennedys that I'm worthy of this position. He thought darkly. 

"Fine, I'll go." Nixon muttered, folding up the invitation and putting it on the bedside table. He could feel his eyes grow heavy and he knew that tomorrow was going to be a big day. "Good night Buddy." 

"Dick…I just-" Pat began, but stopped as she saw the president roll over and fall asleep on his side. He was acting very strangely, but she felt that it wasn't right to continually prod him. One day, maybe he will open up more…yet she strongly doubted that possibility. 

She sighed, turned off the light and went to sleep. 

 

The next day was just as significant as Nixon thought it would be. He stood in the middle of the golfing field, shielding his eyes against the harsh afternoon sun. In the distance, he spotted Ted Kennedy walking down into the field to greet him. Normally, he would have refused to play golf with any of the Kennedys but seeing that it would look worse if he had declined, he decided to take the challenge. 

"Dick," Ted said with a smile, holding out a hand. 

"Mr President to you." Nixon said condescendingly, gingerly shaking his hand.

"Not for long." Ted added mischievously. 

Nixon glared at him angrily, but by then Ted had already turned around to speak to his caddy. "I'd like to use my expensive clubs, thanks." He said, emphasising the word "expensive", much to Nixon's disgust. 

Cocksucker. Nixon thought, you think you own the whole world? Not by a long shot. I've played more golf than you've kissed women. 

"Mr President.." Nixon's caddy was standing behind him, holding the clubs "Are you ready?"

"Of course I'm ready." Nixon said promptly, loud enough for Ted to hear him. He then leaned closer to whisper "I'll beat that cocksucker until he's too scared to hold a golf club again." 

The caddy raised an eyebrow, looking baffled at the president. "Okay then…good luck." 

Nixon grinned, feeling confident. He knew that he could do this. From all those dreary afternoons playing golf in the oval office, this game was going to be a piece of cake. As he took hold of the golf club, he practiced a couple of swings, visualising the ball on the tee. Once he was satisfied, he took a ball and readied the club. 

Ted stood in the background, laughing and chatting some young women that he had brought along with him. Nixon smirked. Since he was so distracted, this was probably going to be to his advantage. 

"Are you starting without me, Dick?" Ted called out, shocking Nixon slightly. 

"It's Mr President…And no. I'm not. But if you stop canoodling around maybe we can play this properly."

Ted gave a hearty chuckle but was finally ready to play. Nixon went first, and with one swing, the ball landed directly inside the hole. 

"Good work!" Ted said with a smile, yet Nixon ignored him. Ted tried to mimic the swing, but after two attempts did he get the ball in the hole. Internally, Nixon was gloating, knowing that this man was nowhere near as experienced as he was. The girls behind him were still cheering him on, planting kisses on his cheek for encouragement. 

As they moved further into the field, Nixon continued to do rather well, only once missing the hole slightly. Ted grinned, despite losing miserably. 

"You know, since you're so good at golf, maybe you should switch occupations." Ted joked. 

"Not on your life, Ted." Nixon snarled, getting well into the competitive spirit. He could feel himself perspire slightly, but he tightened his grip on the club and focused his gaze on the ball, mentally lining it up with the hole. The two men and their caddies were now more than halfway in the field. Nixon managed to get the ball close to the hole, yet not quite in. After another attempt, he made it. 

Yet contrary to Nixon's expectations, Ted was slowly catching up to him. He managed to get a hole in one even when the hill was so steep. As Nixon watched, mesmerised, Ted flashed a smile at him before going back to speak to the girls who were now sheltered the buggy. The older man gritted his teeth, trying to get himself to focus once more. 

But from the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure standing a few feet behind, watching him intently. At first, he assumed that it was the caddy, yet he took a glance to the right and realised that his caddy was standing on the other side. 

He spun around, and to his dismay saw Kissinger watching him calmly. He had looked rather out of place in his suit on such a hot day, yet judging from his stone-faced expression, it did not seem as though the heat was an issue for him. The sun shone directly on his lenses so that his eyes were not even visible. It was an eerie sight. 

Nixon turned back to the ball. To hell with Kissinger. He was going to deal with him later. Now it was to win against his rival and prove to everyone that he was a focused, skillful president. With determination, he gripped the club and started to swing. Yet as he did this, he felt his hands slide from the club, his grip weakened. He frowned, pausing to wipe his hands on his pants before attempting another swing. 

To his surprise, his arms began to quiver and even as he forced himself to focus, he could not improve his swing. Ted watched on, amused at Nixon's deterioration of skill. Quickly, he produced a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the sweat that was gathering on his top lip. 

"Get on with it, old man." Ted chuckled, his arm around the waist of one of the girls. "We haven't got all day."

"Yes! Okay." Nixon responded gruffly "I'm just trying to concentrate here." With one clumsy swing, the ball was sent spinning in the air before landing in a nearby pond, frightening the ducks away. 

"God damn it!" He muttered, throwing the club down in frustration. His caddy, concerned went over to check on the president. 

"Do you want to take a break, Mr President?"

"No!" He shouted, refusing to forfeit the game. It was still halfway and he still had a chance to win against Ted. "Just hand me another club and I'll try again. The grip on these things are terrible.,” he added, blaming the golf club for causing him to lose.

Ted went over to Nixon, holding a glass of champagne. "Figured that you could do with one of these, Dick."

"I'm fine." Nixon responded, knowing all too well that Ted was trying to sabotage any chances of him winning. Alcohol would merely slow him down and cause him to lose momentum.

"Suit yourself." Ted replied, drinking from the glass himself. "I just thought that you'd want a little something to calm down your nerves."

But even as they continued to play, Nixon showed very little signs of improvement. He could not shake the image of Kissinger standing behind him, watching him silently. What was he really up to? And how did he know that I was playing golf? Nixon wondered. That information was confidential, unless of course someone else had told Kissinger about it. Even as they had reached the final hole, Nixon had lost concentration altogether. Grumpy and mentally exhausted, he left the golf field without even saying goodbye to Teddy. 

"Great game, Dick! We should play again soon!" Ted called out to him from the distance as Nixon stormed away. He was too angry to make sense of anything at the moment. It was one thing to be teased by Ted, but it was another to lose the game that had meant so much to his credibility. It felt like a slap to the face. He hated losing and once again felt cheated. If Kissinger had not arrived, perhaps none of this would have happened. The nerve of that man! Maybe he had planned to bring him down and destroy him. 

A worrying thought came to his mind as he headed back to the White House. Perhaps Kissinger had wanted to ruin his credibility because he was secretly Democratic! To make him a laughing stock would have been the ideal plan to allow Teddy a better chance to win. He quickly met up with Haldeman on the way up to his own quarters to ask him about what was going on with Kissinger. 

"Sir, you did state that there was a golfing tournament against you and Mr Kennedy." Haldeman replied, narrowing his eyes. 

"No…that's impossible!" Nixon gasped. He had no recollection of ever saying that. 

"Well, at the time this was at the charity cocktail party." Haldeman explained, struggling to keep a straight face "I think you probably had one too many Mai Tais then." 

Nixon frowned, yet his face cleared as he patted Haldeman on the shoulder. "Well then.." He said sheepishly "I should probably lay off from those drinks then, eh?" He chuckled, feeling slightly relieved that Kissinger had not tracked him down himself. Yet it still remained unclear as to why Kissinger was at the golf course in the first place. What did he want from him? 

Even after he had showered and had a bite to eat, he was still not in the mood to work. Instead, he stayed in his quarters, playing a tune at the piano to calm himself. As his fingers touched the keys, he felt as if the weight was taken off his shoulders and he closed his eyes, allowing himself and his problems to be swept away by the music. As the music became more complex and dramatic, Nixon began to pound away at the keys with passion, enjoying the way it had vibrated his fingers. He continued for what had seemed like almost half an hour until he was interrupted by a single yell. 

"Dick!"

Nixon quickly slipped his fingers from the keys and slammed the piano lid, before turning around and seeing a red-faced and irritated Pat Nixon.

"I've been trying to call you for ages, but you've been in such a trance, what is going on?"

Nixon's fists clenched as he recalled the golfing tournament and his miserable loss. But he he knew that by explaining that, he would have to give away his feelings for Kissinger. 

"Nothing." Nixon said shortly.

"Dick, I heard about what had happened today." Pat said, sitting down next to him on the piano seat. 

Nixon's eyes widened "What have you heard?!" He asked desperately.

Pat looked startled at the question. "I just heard about you losing the golf tournament against Teddy Kennedy. But you shouldn't be so worked up over it. Winning the game isn't everything."

"Winning is everything!" Nixon insisted "Being the president's wife may not seem important to you but this role means everything to me! Now I'm a laughing stock for the Democrats and it's all because of-" 

He quickly stopped himself mid sentence, realising that if he had mentioned Kissinger, Pat was going to interrogate him even further. 

"Because of who?" Pat asked wearily, but at this stage she had already lost her patience. She threw her hands in the air. "You know what? Forget it. I've had enough of this competitive, paranoid attitude of yours. I want to end it, Dick."

Nixon gasped in astonishment "What are you saying? You want to divorce me? But Buddy, you're everything to me!"

He tried to put his hands on her shoulders, but she had quickly moved away from him, too angry to even look at him in the eye. This had not been the first time that they had such a disagreement in their marriage, and Nixon was desperate to win her back. If she were to leave him, he would truly lose the one thing that distinguished him as a true Republican. It would be all over headlines, and the press would constantly hound him. It was the last thing he needed while he already had to deal with so much. 

"Buddy, no...please don't leave me." Nixon begged, taking both her hands. "It would ruin my presidency." 

"That's the only thing you really seem to care about." Pat sighed, pulling away. "I need to take a break from this, Dick. I'm going to stay at a friend’s house until everything settles down."

Nixon breathed some sign of relief. At least she was not going to leave him forever. Yet he was still not entirely satisfied, "But there's still the cocktail party…"

"You can go to that alone." Pat answered coldly. "You have so many associates, you can easily invite one of them to come along with you." 

"But Buddy.." 

Pat crossed her arms, pursed her lips and without another word made her way out of the room. Nixon tried to call out to her, but she simply ignored him. There was no way that he was going to change her mind now.

As a wave of hopelessness washed over him, Nixon turned back to the piano to play another song.

 

The next few days were just as lonely as Nixon had predicted them to be. With Pat living well away from the White House and his two daughters staying with her, he spent most of the time in the Oval Office. Work was the only thing that could keep him stable and his thoughts away from Kissinger. As planned, bombing went ahead in Cambodia as well as Laos. To add to his troubles, it increasingly became more difficult to avoid the anti war protestors that were tailing after his car. 

"Get rid of those bums! Drive out of here." Nixon yelled at his driver. 

"I'm sorry, but there's no way we can." The chauffeur said in dismay "You will have to leave here." 

Around him, the protestors were jeering, throwing what had appeared to be tomatoes at Nixon's window. A sea of signs as well as hideous masks lined the sidewalks. Anguished faces of young students screamed at him angrily. "Liar!" Someone shouted, "Tricky Dick is at it again!" 

Nixon frantically turned back to the chauffeur "I'm NOT getting out here." He said angrily, although fear was clear in his voice. The way the students were carrying on, it was as if they were going to run him down. Perhaps they were planning to kill him. After all the things he had heard people say about him, he was not surprised that they were this violent. It was the media's fault he knew it. If the newspapers and the televisions didn't show all those graphic images of Vietnamese civilians' bodies, maybe they wouldn't have behaved in such a way. He could feel himself perspiring once more and nervously wiped the sweat from his forehead. Would this hatred for their current president actually drive them to do what they did to Kennedy? Nixon took a few deep breaths trying to keep calm. No. They would not kill him. They couldn't. 

"You have to drive us OUT of here." Nixon said firmly, "Now! For god sakes!" 

The driver struggled to speed up, but by then the protestors were all grabbing hold of the bonnet, all packed around the car like sardines. He knew that by driving any faster, he would risk running over the protestors. 

"I can't do it." The chauffeur replied, as he came to his realisation "You have to get out. One of your men will assist you don't worry. Some of them are trying to hold off the crowd."

Nixon's eyes were blazing "What do you mean, one of my men?!" He began to ask suspiciously, but was cut off by another tomato that was thrown on the windows.

"I don't want to argue with you, but you have to leave now, Mr President."

Nixon reluctantly climbed out of the car, shaking as he did a clumsy attempt of his peace sign before being jeered at once more. He ducked, narrowly avoiding another flying tomato. One part of him was slightly grateful that they were only tomatoes being thrown and not stones. 

But he was too lost in his thoughts to get out of the way of a couple of scruffy teenagers who had spat at him, waving around their antiwar signs. He quickly wiped the spit from his collar, feeling disgusted and humiliated. While he was trying to get away, he stumbled face to face with a hideous mask with a grotesque, big nose. It took him a few seconds to realise that it was meant to be his own face. 

Am I really that ugly? He thought self consciously, touching his nose. Is this really how they see me? As a monster? 

A hand gripped him by the arm and pulled him away from the crowd. It was all too quick that he hadn't even seen who it was. But once he was whisked back to safety, he froze, taking in the features of his rescuer for the first time. Kissinger stood before him, addressing him gravely behind his thick glasses. 

"Are you hurt, Mr President?" Kissinger asked him, with a tinge of worry in his voice. 

Nixon was so taken aback that he could barely reply. After regaining his composure, he managed a grumble. "Yes. I'm fine." Once again he was confused. This was the man who had followed him into the golfing tournament and had pretty much sabotaged his chances of winning against Teddy Kennedy, and the same one who had made him feel so ill and weak every time he stood near him. If he had truly worked for the Democrats, then why would he go all the way through a hostile crowd to try and help him? Nothing was making sense and it infuriated him that there were always so many unanswered questions in regards to his National Security Advisor. 

Nevertheless, his heart quivered at the thought of being rescued whilst in the clutches of a public turned against him. His eyes turned to gaze into the blue ones which were already scrutinising him and for a moment, there was a blissful silence between them, a silence that managed to mask all the yelling in the background. If he had things his way, he would stare into those orbs for even longer, but the harsh shouts of reality had rudely penetrated through their quiet moment together. 

"We should get inside." Kissinger said quietly, making his way indoors. Realising that there was no point in arguing with him, Nixon followed him in. As they walked through the corridor, Nixon expected Kissinger to walk straight ahead, yet the other man walked beside him instead, casting a few glances back at him to make sure that he was alright. 

"Hey, Henry." Nixon began, once he was sure that they were alone. He had so many things to ask the man right now, but there was only one thing that he had managed to utter. "…Thank you."

Kissinger looked back at him, startled as if he had not expected any thanks at all but gave a small nod in acknowledgement. 

"It's nothing, Richard." Kissinger replied dismissively.

But to Nixon, it was not just nothing. The man who he had detested so much had pretty much saved his life. He briefly recalled Kissinger's words before he had given him the kiss that changed his life dramatically. The first kiss from another man...

"All those people will be fearful of you, and they will never love you…but I'll never be afraid of you, Richard. I already know the sort of person that you are." 

He remembered that disappointment when Kissinger decided not to act on his feelings anymore and the way he had abandoned him in the park in his dream. It was this feeling of loss that he was so frightened of experiencing again, but at the same time he had wanted to stay well away from whatever this relationship was leading towards. 

Standing by himself in the corridor, he had realised how alone he really was. It hurt. First his family wanted to spend time away from him, and then it was the American people. Nixon did not even feel like he had fully connected with his members of staff. The only one person who still stood by him was Kissinger. 

Was this the gamble he had wanted to take? Could he perhaps keep such a secret from the nation? 

Screw them all. Nobody cares about what Nixon does anymore. The president thought bitterly. An answer had finally came to him. If he did not have anyone to accompany him to the cocktail party, he was going to ask Kissinger himself. After all, it was the least that he could do. But he did not want to arouse the attention of the other members by ringing him up. Somebody could have easily taped the calls. No. He decided to go and see him personally. 

Pretty soon, he was in front of Kissinger's office, pacing around nervously as to whether he should come in. Slowly, he opened the door and found a puzzled Kissinger sitting at his desk, looking up at him immediately. 

"Mr President? What can I do for you?"

"Henry…" Nixon said awkwardly, trying to keep a confident tone but not doing a very good job "I want to ask you if you would like to join me for this cocktail party that's going to be on." 

A small smile broke on Kissinger's usually stone-face expression. "Certainly, Mr President..if you so insist." He responded. 

"I'll fax you the details." Nixon replied. He was relieved that Kissinger was going to accompany him and at the same time he was very nervous about what was going to happen. This could be his chance to change his life around. But he did not want to keep his hopes up. If Kissinger no longer had feelings for him, then it could well be the night that would ruin his pride.

But before he was about to leave the room, he caught sight of the soft, warm hands that were touching the sheets in front of him and could not help but remember the way they had felt when on his hands and his face. As he visualised this, the uncomfortable fluttering of his stomach had returned and he went back to his quarters, ashamed. 

The weeks leading up to the cocktail party were just as torturous as ever. Nixon endured more hate from the public, as well as more isolation and loneliness whilst in office. He hated every minute of it and chose to shut himself up and away from everyone. His members of staff had no idea what sort of worries he had in his mind but assumed that he was just reacting very badly to what was printed by the press. 

"He'll get over it." Nixon overheard one of his staff say. 

But Nixon knew that it was not that simple. They had absolutely no idea. 

As for all the times when he was asleep, Nixon's mind was still not free from Kissinger. He would toss and turn as unnerving images of hideous masks, screaming protestors pursued him. After he had fled from them all, he collapsed into a couple of warm, welcoming hands which caressed him gently, wiping away the perspiration from his brow before embracing him once more. Nixon reached up to take Kissinger's face into his hands, desperate to kiss him one more time but the other man pulled away as he longed for him more. 

"It's me or them, Richard..what is more important to you?" a chilling voice asked, directly in his ear. 

Nixon reached out, but Kissinger was already walking away from him, back into the shadows. 

"Henry…Henry..I love you!" 

The same disconcerting dream haunted his mind every night up until the cocktail party. Now in his hotel, facing the mirror he fumbled at his bow tie, trying to make himself look presentable before the night. The long flight from Washington to California had made him very tired and irritable. He cursed a couple of times, knowing that it was Pat who had often helped him with this. Angrily, he finally attached a clip on tie, knowing that he was going to be late if he had to spend more time fixing his bow tie. This evening was going to be very important for both his presidency and maybe with Kissinger and he could not let anything go astray. 

Nixon arrived at the hotel relatively punctual. A few of the foreign officials as well as Republican supporters were there and had waved at him eagerly. Thankfully, none of the Kennedys were close enough to see him. He refused to speak with any of them. Nixon hesitantly walked down to greet his supporters and shake their hands, forging his best smile as he did so. 

"Oh my! Dick! So happy to see you." A young Texan woman linked her arm through his. Even though he had not recognised her, he assumed that she was one of the more serious Republicans. "I heard about what happened with Pat, so sorry…"

Nixon lowered his gaze, wanting to change the subject immediately "She's just temporarily spending time with a friend. I'm going to get a drink." He made an attempt to leave her, but the woman clung to him.

"What will it be? Mai Tais? I'll get you some right away." 

Flustered, Nixon nodded, surprised that she had somehow known what his favourite drink was. Perhaps she was at the other cocktail party. As soon as he saw her run off to the bar, he quickly turned around and made his way to the back of the room so that she would not find him. He stared at his watch. When was Kissinger going to arrive? He couldn't wait here forever. The woman was sure going to turn around and realise that he had already left. In the distance, he spotted Eisenhower but made no effort to wave to him. 

In front of him on stage, he could see a group of violinists and a pianist playing a few tunes. He sighed, realising how mediocre they were. If he had the chance, he would go up and play a tune on the piano himself but right now he did not want any unnecessary attention. Never, had he felt so useless before. As president, he was meant to be actively engaging with the crowd so that he could be elected for a second term but instead he chose to hide away. No matter how many people he socialised with or hands he shook would he get Kissinger's blue gaze out of his mind. He knew that sooner or later he would have to choose between the people or Kissinger. And it was not going to be easy. 

Maybe this is why people hate me so much… Nixon thought. Who wants a president who just sits around and mopes in the shadows? 

He carried on this way for about an hour, relieved that only a few people had taken notice of him and chatted. He looked at his watch, frowning at the fact that Kissinger still had not arrived. Glancing back at the bar, he decided to have some drinks after all. What did he have to lose? With alcohol in him, he was sure that some of his charisma would come back, whilst his feelings for Kissinger would ebb away. 

"Three Mai Tais." Nixon told the bartender "And make them quick."

"Mr Nixon!" The bartender was overjoyed. He was so honoured to finally be serving the most powerful man in the world "I'll give them to you right away!" 

Realising that he had a loyal fan, Nixon decided to take advantage of it. He turned and pointed out the blonde Texan girl who was trying to chat him up earlier "Can you please make sure that blondie here gets as distracted as possible? I don't want her tailing me about like some dog."

The bartender chuckled "Oh, I bet it must be wonderful to be this popular with the ladies." He replied "But I'll do my best. Why? Is she some ex-girlfriend?"

Nixon shook his head "Just get rid of her. She gets on my nerves."

The bartender could not ignore how tense the president looked. 

"Don't worry about the reelection. I'm sure you'll do fine. Everyone here is rooting for you." 

Nixon smiled slightly, strangely comforted by the man's words, "You think so?"

"Sure! America won't be the same without you, Mr Nixon." saying this, he handed Nixon a glass. 

"Thanks pal." Nixon responded, patting the bartender on the shoulder. He took the drink gratefully, drinking it quickly in one go. The sweet and sour taste immediately woke his senses and he immediately took another. It was as if someone had turned on the light for him because everything seemed so clear to him. He felt so alive. "Ah, these are great!" Nixon remarked cheerfully to the bartender "Keep this up and I'll let you work in the White House with me." 

The bartender who already star struck by the fact of making drinks for the president was about to faint at the gracious offer. "Really? I am so humbled, Mr Nixon…thank you."

After a few more Mai Tais, Nixon found himself joining in with the rest of the crowd, chatting excitedly to all the officials and slapping them on the back as if they were old friends. They were laughing along with him, so he assumed that the jokes he was telling them were hilarious. He could not even remember what he was saying, but it did not seem to matter. If he was making them happy, then he knew that he would be elected for another term. 

But at the corner of the room stood a silent figure, which watched Nixon with concern. As Nixon took another Mai Tai, Kissinger was suddenly standing before him, grabbing hold of his arm and dragging him away. 

Nixon was furious. How could this man interfere in his chance for a re election? He wanted to shout at him, but waited until they were outside before he could. "Careful with those Mai Tais!" He chuckled as Kissinger attempted to pull him away "They're lethal!"*

To his annoyance, Kissinger had taken the glass straight out of his hands, putting it on a waiter's tray. "He's had enough." 

Once outside, Nixon had clumsily grabbed hold of Kissinger's shoulders, pushing him against the wall. "What are you doing, Jew-boy?" He slurred, "You're stealing my thunder!" 

"I'm getting you out here so that you don't make a fool of yourself, Richard." Kissinger replied firmly. 

"What do you mean, fool of myself? I was making them laugh! The people love me, Henry! Why? What's wrong…are you jealous?"

Kissinger smiled slightly, "We need to get you to the hotel before you get anymore drunk." 

A slight breeze blew on the balcony and Nixon finally let go of Kissinger to admire the view for the first time. All he could see were the sparkling lights of the city, shimmering in the dark like a reflection on the surface of a lake. It was so beautiful that Nixon continued to stare, appreciating how stunning the sight was. It had been a long time since he had felt so carefree and unguarded. 

"Richard, we have to take you back to the hotel."

Nixon hushed the other man. "Come here," He said to him sternly, "and take a look at this view."

There was the soft sound of footsteps behind him as Kissinger went to join him. "It's just the city, Richard."

"It's not just that! Use your eyes…use your imagination. It reminds me of the lake. Aw boy I'd like to take a dive down there…"

Kissinger chuckled, "I think it's just the alcohol talking. It's dangerous to be up here. We need to go back."

Nixon shook his head, refusing to leave. "No…I like it here. Stay here longer with me, please?" 

The other smiled. It was refreshing to see this boyish side of Nixon compared to the usually paranoid president. "Alright. We'll stay here if that's what you really want. But come away from the edge."

Nixon drunkenly stumbled back, whilst Kissinger put an arm around him to help him keep his balance. As he felt the warm arm around him, the fluttering feeling in his stomach had returned. It was his chance now, to change everything. Kissinger was alone with him for once and never had he wanted him more than ever. He moved closer, putting an arm around his neck. 

"You make me so mad with you sometimes." Nixon blurted truthfully "But I can't stop thinking about you…you once told me to make a choice between you or them. And to be honest, even if I love all the publicity I know that it will never last." He stared into the thick glasses "I have feelings for you, Henry. I've loved you for a while. And I don't want to lose you. Please, tell me what you really feel about me. I'm dying to hear it. I won't conceal myself anymore, I swear." 

Kissinger's eyes widened in disbelief "No. You're just drunk. You already made it very clear to me what your feelings were."

But Nixon refused to give up. He clung to the other man tighter, refusing to let him go again. What if he never came back? His life depended on it. He needed to know. 

"You don't understand. I couldn't tell you all of this while I was sober. I was too scared. But now, we have the chance to make things work, just you and me. Please, Henry…kiss me you idiot." 

Kissinger gazed into his pleading eyes, realising that for the first time Tricky Dick was being sincere. He placed a hand directly on his cheek; his heart thumping, as he knew that it was time to make the next move. "I love you too, Richard. " He replied, much to Nixon's joy. He traced his fingertips against his skin towards his jowls gently, causing the other to perspire. "Do you really want this?" The National Security Advisor asked seriously.

"More than anything in the world…" Nixon murmured. "Please, you're killing me right now." 

Without another word, Kissinger moved closer, giving him a tender kiss on the mouth. Nixon immediately reciprocated the actions, being much rougher in comparison. A gasp escaped from Kissinger's lips as the other bit him, yet he was able to control himself. 

"We need to stop this.." Kissinger said urgently, moving away "Before someone sees us." Nixon stared down, crestfallen and feeling foolish, but the soft hand took hold of his sweaty one, giving it a squeeze as if to reassure him that he did not mind his advances. "We need to take you home first." Kissinger continued in a businesslike tone "Come on." 

Nixon followed the other man, who had still kept his arm around him to stop him from bumping into everything. Luckily, as they went back indoors most of the guests had already left. Kissinger rang for Nixon's chauffeur to take him to his hotel, yet the line was engaged. Thinking quickly, Kissinger decided to book for a room for them together in the Ambassador hotel. The receptionist gave them the most luxurious room, wanting to be as accommodating as possible to the intoxicated president and his National Security Advisor. 

But despite Kissinger's request for a twin room, his face fell realising that there was only one large bed. It was far too late to ask for another, as most of the rooms around this time of night would be booked up. He thought of sharing the bed with Nixon but felt that it would not be right to sleep beside a man who was far too drunk to even comprehend what was going on. 

Nixon felt his head touch the pillow as Kissinger helped him to the bed. He removed his shoes and socks, as well as his coat just to make him more comfortable. 

"I'll be on the couch if you need me." Kissinger said to him quietly, turning out the light, "Good night, Mr President." 

"Don't go…" Nixon called out. 

The other man turned around, seeing the president reaching out a hand "Come and lie with me." 

Kissinger chuckled, knowing exactly what his intentions were "No, I think it's far too soon for this. You get some sleep." 

"Where will you go and sleep? On the couch? What if someone was spying me and plotting my death? Please, you have to protect me." 

There was some alarm in his voice, and it took a second for Kissinger to realise that he was becoming paranoid again. Chances were, was that he was disorientated after all the drinking. Perhaps by now he was beginning to sober up. 

Kissinger gingerly moved over to sit at the edge of the bed, planning to just sit there until the other fell asleep. But Nixon was not in the mood to sleep. He grabbed hold of Kissinger by the tie, pulling him directly on top of him 

"Richard…" 

Nixon struggled to undo Kissinger's buttons; his heart beat accelerating in anticipation. Kissinger took hold of his hands and put them down so that he could undress himself. To Nixon's delight, the other man had removed the thick glasses which had often obscured his eyes, allowing him to stare into those blue orbs properly. He had always assumed that he had such beautiful eyes from seeing them in his dream, but seeing them in reality was even better. Quickly, he struggled to take off his own clothes, but was much too clumsy to remove them properly. 

"I can't remove this damn tie..." Nixon grumbled, before Kissinger began to assist him. On such a hot summer night, it was a relief to finally get out of the constraining formal attire. In the dim light of the moon, he examined Kissinger's naked form from head to toe, liking what he saw. It was not exactly an idealised model body that was in catalogues, but it seemed perfect enough to him. "Come closer…" Nixon whispered, wanting to run his hands all over him. 

The other obeyed, but ended up tracing his hands over him instead. Nixon blushed slightly, embarrassed by his scrawny body. Hardly anyone had seen him like this, apart from his wife and he was never really proud of his figure. But Kissinger playfully toyed with his chest hair, not even the slightest bit disappointed. 

"I bet you wish I had a body like Kennedy…" Nixon sighed sadly. 

Kissinger laughed, putting his hands on his shoulders "I don't want to do this with Kennedy, I want to do this with you." He told him matter-of-factly. He leaned in close, whispering sweet things in his mother tongue, planting kisses to his face and neck. "Du riechst so gut..." He purred, rolling his R's seductively. Nixon had rarely heard someone speak German to him, let alone in such a passionate way. It was shamefully adding to his arousal and he could feel himself harden at each word. "Hab keine angst, meine liebe....ich bin hier." At those words, his hands continued to journey down from the other's biceps and onto his torso. Nixon trembled at the contact, his shaking intensifying as he felt the hands move lower. 

As he felt an unspeakable part of him pulsate in pleasure, he could feel Kissinger's hot breath against his neck.

"Are you scared?" 

Nixon closed his eyes, nodding slowly as he lay transfixed. He did not even know if he was shaking for fear or for pleasure…or for both. Was this really what being sinful was all about? But why did it feel so wrong, when it felt so good? 

"We as humans should never allow certain rules to govern us from doing what is natural." Kissinger continued to whisper "…only such rules could lead us to destruction." 

Even though his mind was still foggy from the Mai Tais, he realised that Kissinger was making a reference to his own dismal past. He could not understand why exactly the other was saying this, especially since he seldom spoke about personal matters but the words seemed to be enough to reassure him. 

"Henry…the Nazis…I am so sorry." 

Kissinger silenced him with a kiss before continuing, "The past does not matter anymore. It only matters if we were to repeat its errors." 

The serious mood was soon replaced by one of passion as they became lost in their pleasure-filled caresses, hopelessly tangled in a dangerous web of lust. As they finally came together, Kissinger planted a tender kiss to the other's trembling lips and held him in his arms as they fell asleep. 

 

The next morning, as Nixon opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the throbbing pain of his head. The bed he had been lying in was not his own bed at the White House, but miles away in an expensive one from the Ambassador Hotel. He cursed under his breath as he got up, but stopped short. It only took him a moment to realise that he was completely unclothed and as he tried to stand up, he felt both pleasure and pain in his unspeakable regions. His mind was spinning with so much confusion that he had to sit down again, about to collapse. What had just happened last night? 

Just as he was trying to remember the events from last night, he heard a shuffle and jolted. Someone else was in the room with him. 

"Who is it?!" He called out in panic, trying to hide his nakedness. As he searched the floor, he realised that all his clothes were gone. 

"It's only me, Richard." came the reply, as Kissinger walked out, already dressed. "I didn't want to wake you."

"Henry…" Nixon backed away, shocked and embarrassed that his National Security Advisor was in the hotel room with him. "What happened to me last night?! Where are my clothes?" It was a possibility that he had a tryst with one of the Republican women at the party yet it had seemed so disrespectful to his Quaker faith. How drunk did he actually get to betray all of his moral principles? 

"I know it's quite a lot to get your head around, Richard…but we spent the night together." 

Nixon scoffed, thinking that the other man was fooling him "Ha! Not on your life, Henry! I'm not a fag. I would never…"

But Kissinger's expression remained still. In his hand was a tape recorder. Nixon had not even noticed it before. A cold sweat broke as the president sensed some betrayal. His eyes widened in horror. No. It couldn't be... "You were taping me?! What are you going to do? Leak it to the press? Give it here!" He made an attempt to snatch it off him, but Kissinger held the tape up and out of reach. 

"This is the evidence that something did happen between us last night. Your clothes are washed and ironed and are sitting on the chair. Get cleaned up and I'll play it to you."

Nixon's jaw dropped. For the first time in a while, it was his subordinate who was giving him orders. He clenched his fists, impatient to listen to the tape now, yet he had felt so vulnerable in his current state. 

"I'll be in the lounge if you need me." Kissinger said quietly, and left him alone once more. 

Once Nixon had cleaned up and found his clothes, freshly pressed and folded, he dressed and met Kissinger in the lounge. The other man kept the tape recorder close to him, not wanting the other to snatch it off him. "Are you ready for this?" He asked. 

Nixon nodded, keen to hear whatever this man was claiming to be true. He needed evidence, fast. 

His fingers slid to the play button and pressed. For a while, there was silence and the distinct winding sound of the recorder but then there were distant voices.

"No. You're just drunk. You already made it very clear to me what your feelings were."

"You don't understand. I couldn't tell you all of this while I was sober. I was too scared. But now, we have the chance to make things work, just you and me. Please, Henry…kiss me you idiot." 

It didn't take long for Nixon to recognise the first voice to be Kissinger's…but it was the second familiar voice which horrified him so much. He knew that it was his own…but what it said had caused his bowels to run cold. His eyes widened and he felt his cheeks burn in humiliation. 

"No…NO!" Nixon shouted. In an instance, his hands tried to grab for the recorder, but Kissinger clung to it tightly. His eyes filled with tears as events from that night slowly came back to him. It was almost surreal. Once again, he was confronted with all these feelings that he did not know how to deal with. But anger rose over them all. In fury, he struck at the other man before prying his hands free from the recorder. 

But as his nervous hands made contact with the soft hands which caressed him so tenderly and haunting his dreams and waking thoughts, anger quickly melted away. His heart thumped quickly, and he felt dizzy once more, like the first time they had kissed. He fell forward, sobbing uncontrollably, wanting so desperately to experience his touch once more, but hating himself for going against his principles. 

Reading his mind, one of Kissinger's hands moved towards the nape of his neck and pulled him forward for an embrace. He held him for a while, before his lips made contact with the cool ones before him. They kissed a few times, but with each one, Nixon felt more drawn towards him. It was like a drug. He was so addicted to him that he couldn't even stop. 

"I hate this…" Nixon grumbled between kisses "I..I'm married and yet I have these feelings for you. I'm a Quaker. But I love you, so much." He continued to weep, feeling too ashamed to look at him in the eye. 

Kissinger gently wiped the tears that were falling down the president's cheeks "As I said, we should not feel guilty for things that are natural…my people were taken away and gassed because they had these sorts of feelings. If you're falling for these rules, then you are merely becoming a victim to the late Führer." 

"But this is going against my policies. Everything that has been preached to me since childhood and everything I've told the people…oh I'll be a ruined man if this gets out. I might as well not be president anymore! I'm a hypocrite. A liar….a real Tricky Dick."

Kissinger hushed him, stroking his cheek slowly to comfort him "This doesn't have to change anything, Richard."

Nixon looked up, puzzled "What do you mean?"

The other smiled at him patiently "You've always been good with being discreet about everything to the public. Remember how we kept quiet about the airstrikes? And American troops are being taken out of Vietnam as we speak. We are doing everything correctly. The war will soon be over."

Hope stirred in his heart as he began to smile. There was perhaps still a chance after all. Maybe his credibility would be restored. "You think so?"

"There is no doubt in my mind. Richard, if you are able to convince the whole nation to think a certain way, then you can surely keep another secret from the nation. You are the most powerful man in the world, remember?"

Yet there was still another issue at hand "But what about us? Pat might find out."

Kissinger gave a small chuckle "Who do you usually tell your secrets to? Surely not to your wife. Richard, I don't mind keeping quiet about this. It's my credibility that would be at stake too." 

His words had provided him with a sense of confidence, like a coat of armour. For the first time in a while, he sighed in relief. There was no need to be paranoid about this. "And the tape?"

"I'll dispose of it straight away."

Nixon shook his head "I mean, why did you take it Henry? If you knew that I had feelings for you, wouldn't that be enough confirmation?"

The blue eyes stared straight into the dark ones that were so full of secrets. "I was afraid that you would not remember…you can be so hard to read sometimes. I did not want to lose the one thing which meant so much to me." 

It was Nixon's turn to caress him and relieve him of any doubts "Even if I continued to deny it, you would get to me eventually. I don't want to lose you either. I couldn't get you out of my head, even when I tried." 

"Hearing you say that is more important than a drunken confession on a recording." Kissinger replied, "Now, this is what we need to do." He took out the tape and with a satisfactory grin, he began pulling out the black reel. "Fetch me some scissors, will you Richard?"

Nixon scowled momentarily "Don't boss me around." He grumbled, but he obeyed, thrilled to finally destroy the evidence that was going to ruin their credibility. 

Several hours later, they were sitting in the president's car which was taking them back to the White House. As they approached Washington D.C, Nixon noticed that the cherry blossom trees were blooming later that year*. Was he really so consumed in all his paranoia and self-doubt that he failed to notice the more beautiful things in life? It was truly a wonderful sight. 

A gust of wind caused a couple of blossoms to dance delicately in the wind and Nixon felt himself smile to himself as he looked through the window. But something had distracted him out of his thoughts as a hand rested on his own. He turned around to see Kissinger smiling at him, the biggest smile that he had ever seen from the man. A love between them was also blossoming rather late. Perhaps if things had turned out differently, it may never have had the chance to blossom at all. But Nixon was glad that it did. Quickly, before the chauffeur could turn around they moved their hands away, staring out of the windows as if nothing had happened.

From all the recent events, it was rather challenging to keep this secret. However, because these men had kept many secrets between them in regards to policy, this was not new to them. Yet it was a secret that they were going to keep in their hearts forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation key: 
> 
> Du riechst so gut: You smell so good
> 
> Hab keine angst, meine liebe....ich bin hier: Translates roughly as have no fear, my love I am here. 
> 
>  
> 
> *Footnotes for historical explanations:
> 
> "Careful with those Mai Tais..they're lethal!": This was actually based of a real quote which Nixon once said when enjoying his favourite drink a little too much. 
> 
> Cherry blossom trees at Washington D.C: 3,000 cherry blossom trees were given as a gift from the Japanese government to the American government as a sign of friendship between the two countries. Interestingly enough, the US provided dogwood trees to Japan in return.


End file.
